


Persephone

by FandomlyCroft



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:02:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomlyCroft/pseuds/FandomlyCroft
Summary: An angsty bechloe one-shot just in time for New Year's





	Persephone

You’ve always had a problem with New Years. To you, it was nothing more a marketing ploy designed to get people to buy more alcohol and party favors in a faux celebration of the changing of the calendar, and to their credit, it’s worked out wonderfully.

 

Of course, that little fact was never enough to get you to actually _attend_ a New Year’s Eve party. (If everyone else was so desperate for an excuse to get wasted and make out with a stranger, bully for them.) You’ve never felt the need to break this particular pattern; partying had never really been your thing, and nobody really mattered enough to tempt you to give it a try.

 

Chloe is the exception.

 

You had made the egregious mistake of mentioning your lack of appreciation for this particular holiday to her a mere week beforehand, and, needless to say you were powerless to do anything but agree to attend the next celebration and participate in the countdown as a result.

 

(“ _What?!”_ The redhead’s shriek is followed by a crash from the living room as a dozing Jessica is startled awake and crashes to the floor in front of the sofa she had been napping on seconds before. “What do you _mean_ you’ve _never_ been to a New Year’s party??”

 

You raise your hands in a placating manner, cringing at the sheer volume of Chloe’s voice.

 

“Jeez, Chlo, calm down for a sec, maybe,” You drawl, shooting an apologetic glance at Jessica as she passes through the kitchen, grumbling lowly and rubbing her side.

 

“Calm down? _Calm down?!_ How am I supposed to calm down, Beca?! This is an atrocity of epic proportions!” At this point, Chloe is pacing back and forth and waving her arms wildly to accentuate her point.

 

“I mean, it’s just never been that big of a deal right? I didn’t think it was important.”

 

Chloe stops dead and rounds on you, and her demeanor shifts so suddenly that you almost get whiplash.

 

“Beca,” She approaches slowly, shaking her head and _tsking_ at your ignorance. She grabs you lightly by the forearms and you suppress a shiver at the warmth of her hands. Her gaze bores steadily into yours, and you can’t help but be bewildered.

 

“Chloe,” You match her tone mockingly with a raise of your eyebrows, attempting to disguise the effect she’s having on you.

 

You can see the flawless arch of each individual hair in her brow, and can count the number of mascara-streaked eyelashes that frame her gleaming eyes. Her perfume has enveloped you in a cloud of some fruity concoction that has you subtly inhaling as quickly as you can without being detected just so that you can revel in how it’s possible that something is just so utterly _Chloe,_ and the warmth of her hands has spread throughout your body like a wildfire.

 

She grins at you then, genuine excitement shining through pearly whites, and you already know what she’s about to demand, and not for the first time you’re frightened by just how easily she can demolish the defenses you had spent the better part of your life erecting.

 

You only resist agreeing to attend the following week’s party for a laughably short amount of time.)

 

You’ve never allowed yourself to think about your attraction to Chloe, never allowed yourself to openly realize that it’s always been more than physical, but almost spiritual in nature. She is everything that you are, everything that you have been, and everything you could ever hope to be rolled up into a ball of sunshine that has come to be the driving force behind everything that you do.

 

(But as someone that’s always had a problem connecting with other people, you would never allow yourself to admit it.)

 

Despite years of undeniable pining, you knew that she was completely and unquestionably off limits, and always had been. She was the greatest friend that you had ever known, and far be it from you to risk throwing away everything that the two of you had shared over the years just to satisfy some stupid, prepubescent crush.

 

Chloe’s friendship meant the world to you, and you wouldn’t risk losing it for _anything_.

 

…

 

You’re thinking of her now as you wander through the hoard of people in the Treble house, realizing that it’s close to midnight and you have yet to see the redhead even once all night. Although you stopped counting your drinks a while ago, you’ve been surreptitiously counting the minutes that your texts have gone unanswered.

 

(You definitely have not spent the better part of an hour in the midst of an alcohol-fueled fantasy wherein you dramatically announce your feelings for her and kiss her under the fireworks as the year is officially concluded. Nope. That would be absolutely ridiculous.)

 

The rest of the Bellas have found you intermittently throughout the night, and you’ve entertained them as best you could in your current state, but it turns out liquid courage does little to enhance your already limited grace and mobility.

 

Sure, maybe you’ve had a few too many, but you’ve had a lot of time unabridged by the redhead’s appearance to reflect on how much she means to you.

 

Loving Chloe had been inevitable, you realize.

 

From the beginning, she’d wrapped herself around you and made it impossible to escape.

 

(Not that you would ever want to.)

 

You’ve always been captivated by her effortless beauty, by the dusting of freckles that grace her cheeks and the crook of her nose; the sharp, alluring curve of the jaw that you long to trace with the pads of your fingertips; by the mischievous gleam in her sky blue eyes and the striking quirk of her full, inviting lips that is reserved solely for the all too common shenanigans in which you are the unwitting (yet all too willing) victim. She’s always had the ability to render you stuttering and breathless, and it’s times like this, when the backs of your eyelids are abnormally heavy and your taste buds are still burning with the combined flavors of the last few shots you had carelessly tossed back, that you find yourself utterly spellbound by her.

 

So it’s no surprise when she steps into your line of sight for the first time since your arrival that you suddenly lose the ability to swallow the drink you had just tipped past your lips.

 

You sputter and cough and _holy fuck_ that burns, but you can’t tear your eyes from her lithe form for more than the few seconds it takes to clear your windpipe.

 

(And besides, the pain accompanying the momentary sting of alcohol is nothing compared to years of one-sided, unrequited love. Actually, you muse, almost nothing even comes close.)

 

She catches your eye from across the courtyard and it takes everything in your alcohol-swaddled repertoire to resist the urge to drop your gaze and drag your vision across the various curves of her body as she begins to approach. Her smile is electric and contagious, and you can’t help but silently curse Aphrodite as your eyes betray you and slide along the smooth trail of her lips.

 

“Becs!” She barrels into you with a force that nobody but those closest to her would expect possible, and winds her arms around you, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad you came!”

 

Her speech is thick with alcohol and when you breathe her in from where your nose is pressed against into the crook of her neck, you smell vodka and pure happiness and _that damn fruity perfume._

 

“I told you I would.”

 

You whisper it like a prayer into her neck, and the sincerity seeps through your skin and rattles your bones, though the redhead doesn’t seem to hear.

 

Instead, she pulls back and grins at you, and you don’t trust your words so you elect to simply smile back at her instead, hoping that it somehow manages to convey just how much she means to you.

 

She giggles and starts to drunkenly shimmy to the music, twirling your fingers in her own and trying to get you to join her.

 

(As you watch her sway, you wish that the tingling in your chest would stall long enough for you to spit out the three words that have plagued you for years.)

 

Just as you manage to work up the courage to ask her to go somewhere more private so that the two of you can talk, she lurches forward and wraps her arms around you again.

 

She sighs contentedly in your ear.

 

“Thanks for being such a good friend. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

 

You stall, the words dying on your tongue.

 

_Friend._

 

You squeeze her as tightly as you can and force a smile when she pulls away from you again.

 

“Of course, dude.”

 

_You’re her friend_ , you tell yourself. Her best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. You’re just doing what good friends do, and good friends don’t fall in love with one another.

 

“Oh!” Chloe exclaims as the countdown clock in the backyard hits twenty seconds. “Come on, Becs!”

 

The redhead grabs your arms and yanks you into the middle of the dance floor before you can protest.

 

_Friend._

The final countdown begins, and the crowd around you roars along excitedly.

 

_10_

Your eyes skim Chloe’s profile as she bops eagerly in time with the crowd, eyes flitting carelessly between faces, not paying you any attention as you grapple with the task of not breaking down publically.

_9_

_Friend._

You clench your eyes shut and tangle a hand into your hair painfully tight, trying to stifle the feeling that someone has smashed you over the head with a baseball bat.

_8_

“Hey, you okay?”

 

You have no idea where Jesse came from, but you’re seriously not in the mood to talk to him.

 

Besides, he just wouldn’t understand.

 

Your eyes sidle back to the redhead next to you.

_7_

 

No one would understand.

 

_6_

“Hey!” Jesse reaches out and claps a hand to your shoulder and you flinch away immediately.

“I need air!” You push off of Jesse and stumble away from the dance floor, mind spinning.

_5_

You careen into the drink table and seconds later someone shoves a full shot glass into your hand. A bit of alcohol sloshes over the top and wets your fingers.

 

You stare expressionlessly at the clear liquid before turning your gaze back to where you had come from.

_4_

You can see Chloe across the way, chanting along with the crowd.

 

She hasn’t noticed your disappearance.

 

_3_

You watch as some drunken asshole stumbles up behind Chloe and places his hands on her hips.

 

You grind your teeth together, feeling the blood pound relentlessly throughout your head, and you can hear your pathetic, drunken conscience screaming at you to abandon complete rational thought and march over and take his place because _fuck_ you never wanted anything more in your entire life.

 

_2_

But that’s not an option.

 

Losing Chloe isn’t an option.

 

_1_

The partygoers simultaneously erupt into a cacophony of cheers.

 

You watch as the redhead’s lips connect with those of some guy you’re sure you’ve never seen before, and don’t realize your eyes have welled with tears until they start to spill across your cheeks, hot and heavy with your silent burden.

 

You stutter out a shaky breath through your nose, angrily swipe away a stray tear from your cheek, and raise the shot glass to your lips.

 

“Happy New Year.”

 


End file.
